Broken
by gyldedfynix
Summary: One-shot GarrusxFemShep.  After inadvertently causing the War on Taetrus, Shepard recounts her past, and finds herself without any hope.  Garrus has left her.  She's killed millions of turians.  The Reapers will kill all who's left.  Why live?


Shepard lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling in her quarters. She stared at the clean lines of the metal and glass, watching the colors slowly swirl as the Normandy glided through space. She reveled the silence, the utter emptiness that was space travel. The hustle and bustle of the cities they visited reminded her too much of her time with the Reds on Earth. While during her run with the gang, she had thoroughly participated-and even enjoyed-the majority of the missions, she had always hated the close quarters and constant show that was living in a crowded environment. She could never be herself in public, always having to put on some kind of appearance to either blend in or stick out, depending on her assignment. She was never allowed to do things her way, without having to act or play by the rules.

She grimaced at the reminiscence of the red tape she repeatedly had to fight her way through to move up in rank. It seemed as she advanced, she was simply saddled with more responsibility, and less of what she really loved-fighting. She had the opportunity to follow other routes. More than once, she was approached to be a dancer or "escort" for the men. Most who proffered the change in vocation left with fewer teeth than they had originally occupied. She could have flown off-world, to some other hellhole to perform some other menial job for some other gang. But that wasn't her style. She honored her loyalties.

On her 18th birthday, she had announced her retirement from the Reds, much to the chagrin of her superiors. They had threatened repercussions as she made her declaration to them. They had woken up two days later with concussions, headaches, and no Shepard.

She knew that these recent events were her fault. The War on Taetrus was her fault. _She_ had killed millions of turians. Facinus only retaliated because the Xifos had crashed into one of their colonies. She let the warbird fall. She didn't see that the captain was only delaying to lock down the console, sealing the fate of the ship.

The ends hadn't justified the means this time. Yes, a war between humans and turians was averted. Yes, the cost could have been higher if that war had happened. But a war _had_ happened. Just not the one she thought.

Shepard turned on her side to look at the clock. She had turned the music on the most peaceful thing she could find, to try to lull her to sleep-away from her thoughts about that were her fault. Away from the fact that she was sleeping alone. Away from the fact that her turian had left her.

She had had lovers. Many, in fact. None before him had mattered. She had used her sexuality to finish missions for the Reds, to promote herself within the organization. Hell, she had even used what femininity she had left to work her way into the Alliance. She used whatever tools the Spirits had bestowed upon her when she was born. Her cunning, her intellect, her body. She was not without compassion, but she did what was needed to get the job done.

He had changed her. As she had changed him. The realization of his striking resemblance to her own way of thinking as he had vented about his time in C-Sec had irreparably bonded the two. The saving of the Citadel and destruction of the Collector base-and the time spent during the events-had cemented their relationship. The Xifos Project.

Shepard angrily tried to push the recollection from her mind. She didn't want to think about the catalyst to their end. Each had understood the other's point of view and sensitivity to the subject. Each had stayed quiet, and pushed it to the back of their minds, focusing on side missions and the preparations for the coming Reaper attack. Then the Vallum Blast occurred.

She remembered reading the news story. She remembered seeing his expression change as he read it beside her. She remembered his body posture change, his hand move from her side, and his head sag. She remembered her heart, beating as fast as she can ever remember, and her face growing hot. What she remembered most of all was the pain. The pain in her chest-in her heart-at their despair. At the revelation that they had failed dismally. That she could no longer help him.

Their love had been decimated in Vallum. Neither were willing to admit it, but it had changed them. They both felt guilty at their failure. Clinging to each other for support seemed wrong. She could not help him find vengeance this time. Not when it would mean destroying each other. They had started fighting. They never fought over the war or the events leading up to it, but they fought instead over word choices, petty actions, or facial expressions. The newly installed sparring ring had almost been destroyed twice from their pent-up emotions. When the two decided to indulge their animalistic side, and try their original choice for relieving stress, the couplings left them both battered, beaten, and going to Mordin for meds to heal the abscessed bites and scratches. Nothing slaked their thirst. Nothing healed their wounds. They were broken.

Hugging her pillow, Shepard curled up on her side, this time facing her framed dog tags. The glass had been shattered by her own hand, the spiderweb cracks distorting the objects beneath. She was broken.

He left a week after the duel between the Facinus leader and the Hierarchy General. He left nothing behind. Just her. He had come up to her quarters in the last minutes of their docking at Omega. They said nothing to each other. Shepard averted her eyes from his in those few awkward minutes as he stood at the top of her stairs while she sat on the edge of their bed. She felt him lift her up, direct her head so that she had to look into those beautiful eyes of his before his held his head against hers, and wrapped his arms around her. The embrace seemed to last forever, and for no time at all. And then he was gone.

Shepard rose from her pillow, briefly looked at the wet spot upon it, and found her wine bottle. Taking a swig from it, she wiped the tears from her eyes, and walked over to the weapons locker she had installed. She had tried to find him. She had Liara search on Taetrus, Palaven, Invictus-anywhere a turian might go to be with his own people. Shepard had searched on the Citadel, Ilium, and every place they had ever visited. He was gone. She had searched for Archangel. She had searched for her turian. He was gone.

She punched in the code for her locker, and looked at the beauty that was his sniper rifle. Her Locust and Hand Cannon were next to it, gleaming in the light. Each of the scratches on the weapons was a memory of them, of their adventures. She picked up her pistol, running her fingers over the damaged surface. She was that pistol: capable of such devastation, yet so ravaged herself.

She was angry with herself. She never used to be this person. She was the confident one: always got the job done, never gave in to adversity. Never gave in to love. And now love had fucked her. It had taken her into its warm embrace, whispered sweet nothings into her ear, made her give into it, made her work to keep it, and then tore her apart.

She clicked off the safety, the little red circle behind the catch reminding her of its danger. She placed her hand on the grip, the tip of her index finger resting lightly on the silver metal in front of the trigger. She closed her eyes.

A hand was on hers.

"Tali..." Shepard said, counting the pressure from three fingers. The hand was working its way under hers to wrench the gun from her grip. Another was on her wrist, working with its other to free the metal object. Shepard angrily pulled back, but released the pistol in the process. Her hands went up, attempting to hide her tear-stained face.

"Shepard..." the voice responded, full of sadness and pain. "If I had known..." it started.

Shepard slowly removed her hands from her face, unbelieving of her ears. She looked at her intruder, the sorrowful expression it carried only deepening her current state of depression. Garrus picked up the petite human, and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her sobbing face into his chest. He stroked her hair, purring softly.

"Garrus, I-" she sighed. She looked up into his eyes, the eyes for which she had been yearning for so long. They pleaded with her. He was already too close to cracking, and anything she said would send him over the edge. He knelt his head to hers, and they sat in silence. Shepard knew that at the very least, they could, for now, find solace in being broken together.


End file.
